


Like A Moth To A Flame.

by SyreYoung



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Female Will Graham, Gen, Genderbending, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Mischa Lecter Lives, Multi, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-08 03:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17973239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyreYoung/pseuds/SyreYoung
Summary: Willoughby 'Will' Anika Graham is just an art student working her way through college.Hannibal Lecter is just the sweet regular at the bar she works at.





	Like A Moth To A Flame.

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware that Will Graham is a cis female in this story! Do not read if this fact bothers/annoys you!
> 
> Will is female for the purposes of my story. I didn't want to do A/B/O dynamics because it doesn't work with my story.
> 
> Please don't read if you're going to complain about Will being female.
> 
> Without Beta.

* * *

_Will._

The Friday night shift becomes more bearable when he's here. They're interesting.

I arrive at Barney's with faint butterflies in my belly, excited for my shift as I usually am on Friday nights, it's busy and the tips are always better than the rest of the week but I'm excited for a different reason. Every Friday _he's_ there. Propped up against the bar with a glass of expensive whiskey in hand and notepad and pen in the other. He's always alone and only stays as long as his drink lasts, varies from half an hour to three, we talk sometimes but not always. He works in the city as a psychiatrist, used to be a surgeon, he's easy to talk to and intelligent.

We flirt briefly, every now and then, when the bar's busy and it won't grow into anything more. I long for more. He asks what I study and how I find the course material, suggests that I show him some of my work, I suggest he take me to dinner first, he hands me a card with his number.

Butterflies in my belly.

The week between seeing each other now is full of infrequent texts, sometimes we text one word after making each other wait six hours, sometimes we are paragraph after paragraph of thought, there is something delightful in the way we interact and it sets my heart racing every time his name pops up on my screen.

The next time we see each other I show him a small piece I've been working on, he admires it and says he wants to see more, I tell him to ask me to dinner, he buys me a drink and talk of places I'd like to go.

My heart flutters.

The next week is full of planning and phone calls, they last either minutes or hours and each one is nothing like the last, he is endlessly intriguing and there is never a silence that falls from having nothing to say.

It's Friday, I'm getting dressed, not for work but for dinner, I warned him when he sent the address of the place we would be eating that I wasn't very fruitful in the wardrobe department, he assured me that I needn't worry, that I could show up in rags and still be overdressed, I trusted his words, I didn't worry.

I examine the light pink silk dress, run my fingers over along the material and over my body, modest, I pin my hair up, let the curls fall down my back, I wonder if he prefers my hair down?

I don't have the time to wonder as the car horn alerts me to its presence just as my phone buzzes.

'I'm outside.' My stomach flutters, I slip my shoes on, high-heels that match the dress, collect the clutch that matches too and head out.

Out for dinner with Hannibal Lecter.


End file.
